Captured Impression
by TheYmp
Summary: Sam awakes to find he's Dean's prisoner in the panic room. As he struggles to remember the events that brought him there, his brother's behavior becomes increasingly erratic. Warnings: imprisonment, enforced drug-use, psychological horror, and death.


**Disclaimer: I don't own** **_Supernatural_** **or its characters - these were created by Eric Kripke - I'm just borrowing them. I'm not making any commercial gain. No harm or infringement intended.**

 ** _Sam awakes to find he's Dean's prisoner in the panic room. As he struggles to remember the events that brought him there, his brother's behavior becomes increasingly erratic._** **Warnings: imprisonment, enforced drug-use, psychological horror, and death.**

 **With thanks to the FicWise writing group.**

~#~

 **Captured Impression**

Sam couldn't identify the particular moment he awoke; the process was too long and protracted. He'd never been diving-it was rare they even got to see the ocean-but he'd imagined it like this, a gradual sense of rising from dark depths to clearer, brighter surroundings.

After what seemed hours of gazing at the flicker of light on the fan in the ceiling above, he finally realized he was awake. There was a sense of bewilderment that turned to alarm when he tried to swipe the hair from his face and something grabbed him by the wrist and wouldn't let go.

Frowning, he stared down at his hands to discover they were tied to the bed. His mind whirled in confused anxiety as he wondered if he'd been taken captive, a thought he discarded on recognizing he was in Bobby's panic room.

What was going on? Was his brother playing some kind of joke? _Hmm, maybe._ Although, this was a little extreme, even for Dean. Had someone, or _something_ , got through the many-layered protections of Bobby's house and taken him prisoner? No, that didn't make sense, surely if that was the case he'd already be dead. _Oh my god, is it a sex thing?_ No, there was no way that he was that kinky, and definitely not on _this_ cot; plus, from the way his head was starting to throb, it was clear it was more a case of blunt force trauma and less a case of overindulgence.

He tried to remember how he'd gotten to be in this current predicament but his mind couldn't seem to hold on to the thought. He wondered just how bad his head injury was; everything around him seemed so blurred and fuzzy. _Really not a good sign._ Trying to think about it harder just made his thoughts slip away that much faster.

Struggling against his bindings achieved little; he was well secured across his chest, arms, legs and feet. Whoever- _or whatever,_ his mind hissed-had tied him up had done a pretty good job. _Maybe it was Dean after all..._

His stomach dropped. He'd kept off the demon blood for a while; perhaps he'd fallen off the wagon in a particularly spectacular fashion? _Perhaps Dean had no choice?_

He shook his head, regretting it the instant he moved as it jostled his injuries and sent sharp spikes of pain shooting through him. That had been a difficult time in his life; he'd been crushed with guilt and grief, ripe for Ruby's manipulations. That wasn't him anymore, though. He barely recognized that person. He'd been here before; he didn't need to be here now.

Realizing he was disappearing into the cyclic depths of his own thoughts, he roused himself from his stupor enough to wrestle against his restraints. When they held against his movements he started screaming, although his dry, parched throat produced little more than a puny squeak. Undeterred, at first he screamed for his brother and when that didn't work he screamed for Bobby until he just screamed for screaming's sake.

Weakened to the point of exhaustion, for one last time he strained against his bonds as much as he could, which honestly didn't seem like very much, until he fell back and darkness closed in around him.

~#~

When Sam came back to himself he was still lying tied down to the bed. Despite his pounding heart and the panic driven adrenaline that coursed through his body, he remained foggy headed.

Sam turned his gaze expectantly at a faint noise that echoed from beyond the heavy, iron door. It opened to reveal his brother, although Dean didn't give eye contact. Even if Sam hadn't been tied to the bed he would have realized something was wrong from his brother's odd, stiff and business-like body language.

"Dean? What's going on? Untie me, man," begged Sam, trying, and failing, to keep his voice calm.

His heart raced as he watched his brother prepare an injection of some sort. "What is that?" Sam asked. "What are you doing? Dean? Dean!" He could hear his own voice rising with fear. He'd seen his brother torture many a monster, some of them in this very room, but perhaps foolishly he'd never expected to be on the receiving end of that treatment himself.

He flinched at the sharp sting of the needle but this was soon replaced with a soothing, warm sensation that spread through his body with remarkable speed. He felt so relaxed that everything _had_ to be fine.

He giggled. The laugh earned him a harsh glare from his brother, before shutters crashed down behind Dean's eyes. Sam had never had those eyes look at him like that before, even when things were at their worst. He cringed under the scrutiny and turned away. _What's happened to Dean?_

Dean continued to ignore him and instead turned to the doorway. There was speech but it was too low and indistinguishable to make out who, or what, was speaking or what was being said.

"You're gonna have to do this," Dean responded to the unseen presence, loud enough to be heard. He sounded equal measures angry and broken up. "I'm sorry, I just can't face it."

The deep-voiced reply remained just as indistinct as before.

Sam wasn't so gone on the drugs that he didn't feel some curiosity, although the rainbow pattern cast by the light across the wall was very compelling. _Too compelling._ Under its sway he slipped once more into unconsciousness.

~#~

Either moments, or maybe days, later, Sam's eyes sprang open as he tried to pull back from a sharp slap across his face and a harsh light focused straight at his eyes. Squinting against the directed glare his heart sank as his blurred, watering vision revealed Bobby glaring down at him.

He blinked stupidly, his mind feeling slow. "Where's Dean?" he managed to slur past a mouth that felt packed with cotton wool.

"I ask the questions! What's the last thing you remember?" Bobby demanded

Sam screwed up his eyes in confusion, moving away from the older man as much as the restraints would allow.

"E-earlier, Dean... He... He injected me with... I dunno," stammered Sam, unsure what was happening. Despite his previous treatment his heart was still in his throat from the fear that something might have happened to his brother.

Bobby sighed and rolled his eyes. "No," he cried, stretching out that single utterance and heaping it with a large serving of disdain. " _Before_ you were here," he added, gesturing at the bed and the bindings and making it abundantly clear he questioned Sam's intelligence.

Sam paused, his eyes widening as he struggled to think. He turned his shocked gaze back to the man he'd always considered a superior replacement for his own father. "I don't know," he gasped. "I can't remember."

Bobby looked unimpressed, his jaw working as he literally chewed on the information. "Then think," he snapped.

Sam struggled to do as he was bid, but his mind stayed blank. It was like trying to get blood out of a stone. _Blood... Wait..._

"A hunt," gabbled Sam as the memories danced tantalizingly at the corners of his mind, "we stopped off here on the way to..." He snapped his fingers as he struggled to recall. "Cedar Falls? No...Rapids! Yes, a vamp nest in Cedar Rapids," he cried as he grinned up at the older man in triumph.

Bobby's faced dropped. "That was weeks ago," he said, the disappointment clear in his voice.

"What's happened to me?" begged Sam.

"That's what we'd all like to know," muttered Bobby as he turned away and left, slamming the heavy metal door behind him.

~#~

Presumably, whatever was in the injections ran out, because then there were pills. Lots of them. They came in a range of different shapes and colors, but the rest remained consistent; Dean or Bobby stood over him, the question always the same: " _What's the last thing you remember?_ "

"Please, I don't wanna. No more," Sam pleaded, his voice still slurred from the effects of the last dose.

"Just take it," Dean snapped. He appeared distracted, his attention seeming more focused on the safe room's door.

Sam had noticed his brother's mood become more erratic over the last couple of visits; not that holding him prisoner exactly made him the poster boy for stable behavior. He wondered what Dean could have done or said to coerce Bobby into helping. _I always knew Dean was his favorite._

It was then he realized that he'd never seen them in the room together. _Perhaps they're the same crazy shapeshifter? Nah, that's crazy. But is it any more crazy than what's already happening?_ His mind pursued the odd-somehow familiar-thought, like a tongue that couldn't help but poke at a loose tooth. _Perhaps it's Bobby? The last time I saw him was when we dropped in on the way back from Sturgis. He seemed fine then..._

He was pulled from his thoughts by the sounds of quarreling, so clear that those talking had to be just outside the door. As he strained to listen, it took a moment to realize it was Dean and Bobby arguing about him.

"...be sure? We've done all the usual tests," he heard Bobby say, sounding even more cantankerous than usual.

"Useless! They prove nothing..."

"So, again: how can you be so sure?"

There was a heavy sigh. "I just... _He's my brother_ , Bobby. I just _know_."

It was Bobby's turn to sigh. "Well, son, I just hope you're right."

Dean snorted. "I just hope we're in time."

~#~

Sam must have dozed off-no doubt thanks to the eclectic cocktail of drugs he'd been force-fed-because the next moment his brother was right up in his face.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Dean asked, his words lacking their recent fire. He appeared tired with smudges under hooded, bloodshot eyes and his posture slumped forward in his chair.

Sam was so fed up with that question; he would almost rather die than hear those words again. It was poor consolation that Dean looked just as irritated with asking it.

That thought prompted the recollection of a recent argument. The details were still hazy but he could remember they'd had some stupid minor disagreement, nothing important but combined with a condescending tone it had been enough to rile him up.

There was a flash of sudden memory that came back to him. "We split up," said Sam in surprise. "I found a tunnel under the church, but you wanted to check the abandoned hotel first."

Dean lifted his head from where it was cradled in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. He seemed stunned to hear Sam speak and it took a moment for him reply. "I remember you saying the passages and crypts went on for miles." Dean shuddered at the apparent thought.

Sam nodded, wincing at the wave of nausea that produced. "You told me to wait, but..." He trailed off and shrugged as much as he was able. He grimaced as he considered how he'd also broken the first rule of hunting: leave your personal crap at the door when you go in.

Dean blinked. His face paled at a sudden realization, making the dark purple skin under his eyes stand out in stark relief. "That's longer ago than I thought possible," he said, his voice little more than a whisper as he dragged himself to his feet. "But it makes sense. Oh, Sammy, you stupid, stubborn..."

Sam never saw the blow from Dean that knocked him out.

~#~

He woke, he guessed much later, to find Dean and Bobby staring down at him. _Ah, there they both are._ He tried to move, but unsurprisingly his bindings remained as secure as ever and possibly even tighter.

"So what do we do with _him_?" asked Bobby.

"I've an idea."

Sam started at the new, yet somehow familiar, voice and the sight of _himself_ walking into view.

 _Other_ Sam appeared pale and badly beaten with a festering wound that looked like something had taken a sizeable, ragged bite out of his neck. His bruised face twisted further into a look of utter hate and revulsion. It was horrifying to see but just as shocking to think that _he_ could look like that.

"Who are you? _What_ are you? I don't understand," stuttered Sam, struggling to sit up.

"Let's kill it," growled _other_ Sam, raising a large machete.

Sam's last thoughts were a memory of dropping that same blade during a fight deep underground against a particularly fierce ghoul.

He wondered how he'd got away.

(;,;)


End file.
